


From Across the Battlefield

by Ganelon8



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Prose Lancelot, Vulgate Cycle
Genre: Courtly Love, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, canonical death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganelon8/pseuds/Ganelon8
Summary: When Galehaut first met Lancelot it was on the battlefield.He soon realizes that Lancelot is in love with Queen Guinevere.
Relationships: Galehaut/Lancelot du Lac, Guinevere/Lancelot du Lac
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	From Across the Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Galehaut deserves to be happy, and someday I shall write a proper poly story for these three with a different ending, but today we just pretend to be lyrical.  
> A lot of the events and conversations are taken directly from the Prose Lancelot. Galehaut is one of many canon queer characters in romance who just doesn't get talked about in academic writing, which I will be fixing at one point or another. He is also just a lovely person, and the relationship between him, Lancelot, and Guinevere is very sad.  
> I can post which books of the PL have the particular events if people want, but otherwise I hope you enjoy!

When Galehaut first met Lancelot it was on the battlefield.

He had been fighting Arthur and his knights, taking back land on the border of the Otherworld which the mortal king had been encroaching upon, as he insisted was his divine destiny. Galehaut and his subjects of Sorelois, the distant isles which were part of the Otherworld and Britain equally, had fought back against Arthur, seeing him as a warlord, not as some great uniter as he and his knights insisted.

Amongst those knights, most of whom had prodigious strength of arms even if they could not stand up to Galehaut, there was a masked knight who none of Arthur’s followers knew the name of. They would show up for each battle, then disappear at its close. It was first mystery that drew Galehaut’s attention, but then, once, on the battlefield as the Mystery Knight was dehorsed, Galehaut gave them his own horse on a whim.

“Thank you, my lord,” came a deep melodic voice from the Mystery Knight. “You are beyond generous.”

“Think nothing of it,” Galehaut said, even though he himself had not been able to follow his own advice for the next week.

So he had met the Mystery Knight again on the field of battle, and invited him to Galehaut’s own pavilion afterwards. The knight agreed, reluctantly, but understood that Galehaut’s word of good conduct and honour was his bond.

When the knight had removed his helmet, the sight of his face had been enough to take away the breath of everyone who saw him. Surely, surely it was not just Galehaut who was bewitched by this man’s beauty?

“What may I call you, good sir?” Galehaut said as they sat down, each with a goblet of wine.

“My name is Sir Lancelot du Lac,” the knight, Lancelot, said. His smile was like a ray of sun in winter, and would have disarmed a whole legion in battle. He had short cut brown hair, sun-tanned cheeks, and a strong chin. He was comely, sure, but the smile and expressions that came so easily to him were even more startling. “And I know you to be Lord Galehaut of Sorelois. Thank you for having me here.”

“It is my pleasure,” Galehaut said.

Lancelot was good company, too, a charming conversationalist and a genuine person. He asked Galehaut what could be done to prevent the fighting between him and Arthur. So, Galehaut had said that if Lancelot fought for him, then, when his forces had nearly beaten Arthur, then would Galehaut offer to Arthur peace. Lancelot agreed, clear blue eyes never suspecting treachery. Galehaut would have hated to be the cause of clouds in them, so he followed through, making peace with Arthur just before any death blows were given out.

Galehaut sat around a table with Arthur, his wife Guinevere, and his heir and nephew Gawain once the treaty was signed. They all commented on the Mystery Knight serving Galehaut now.

“What would all of you give to have such a knight serve you, I wonder?” Galehaut said.

“Why,” Arthur said, “I would give such a warrior half of all my possessions, save my wife, in order that he bend a knee to my cause.”

“I would give that knight my favor, and give them my heart, for such a warrior is surely gentle and beautiful as well as skilled with a sword,” Gawain said, offering the queen a smile.

Guinevere returned the smile to Gawain with less force than it had been offered. “My lord, Sir Gawain, what can a queen do but bribe them to serve for wealth or else for love? I do not know what else I could do.”

There was something sad in how she spoke, something tired. Gawain was enamored with life, Arthur wanted to rule it. But Guinevere, he wasn’t sure what lay beneath the regal dress and crown, the lovely face, the deep warm brown eyes. Galehaut wondered if, from how she had stared at him as they spoke of the Mystery Knight, if she knew Lancelot.

"Surely, aunt, there must be something else,” Gawain said.

“I suppose a royal command,” Guinevere said, musingly. “But I do not wish to force anyone to serve. Now, my lord Galehaut, what would you give for such a knight to serve you? Or, what have you given, I wonder?”

Galehaut gave her a smile like the one she had given Gawain, soft and brief. “I would give my life. Anything that they asked of me, my heart, my soul, I would give.”

The queen had nodded slowly. Galehaut had the feeling that she, too, wasn’t listening as the king complimented them all on their graciousness and courtly manner.

Guinevere had offered to escort him from their camp, but she remained quiet. He was much taller than she was, but she moved with such precision and gravity that she seemed like a warrior herself, or else an enchantress from the Otherworld as he hailed from.

He spoke first, since it was evident she would not. “The name of the Mystery Knight is Sir Lancelot du Lac.”

“I thought it might be him,” she said. Her face gave away nothing.

Heart pounding, Galehaut said, “How do you know him?”

“I knighted him,” Guinevere said. “He is young, and he is good… You seem to be his friend. Will you promise to look out for him?”

Galehaut had promised, and had kissed her hand before taking his leave back to his pavilions and camp. He hadn’t told Lancelot how in demand his services were, but the knight asked of the queen, and how she seemed, and how she looked.

After answering such questions for half an hour, and having worked through a bottle of wine, Galehaut asked if Lancelot loved her.

That had made the knight go silent, but just for a moment. “Oh yes,” Lancelot said. “She is… she is everything to me. I would give her my life, my heart, anything.”

That had been rather close for Galehaut’s taste, and he was just starting to recognize the feelings in his own heart as something amorous. So he had merely proposed a toast to Guinevere, which Lancelot had been happy enough to drink to, then proposed his own to Galehaut, who had blushed.

Sunrise found them both asleep on Galehaut’s bed, who had blushed even harder despite the headache, but who hadn’t pushed the other knight away where he lay with his head on Galehaut’s shoulder.

From there, they travelled together, questing and adventuring. It had been a long while since Galehaut had practiced knight errantry. It wasn’t that he was old, far from it, but his duty had been to Sorelois and his title from a very young age. He hadn’t had fun in so very long, but now, he felt younger than he had in years, and his mouth hurt from smiling, his chest from laughing so much.

The days spent with Lancelot all felt like spring, new and fresh and beautiful. Fighting alongside him, traveling, cooking, talking, walking, just existing with him all felt like a lovely dream, a break from the monotonous life of before. Galehaut wanted this to never end.

But, they had news of a tournament that Guinevere would be presiding over, and Lancelot wanted to go. There was no reason not to, and Galehaut had liked the queen from what he knew of her. So to the tournament they went.

Lancelot won, in the guise of the Mystery Knight. The others who had entered, Yvain and Erec and Bedivere and Dagonet and so many others, all pressed him to know more of him, for his name, his face. Lancelot’s refusals were gentle, but when the queen asked to see him and Galehaut, he went willingly. So Galehaut went, too.

And it was there that he saw the queen, too, loved Lancelot.

Guinevere and Galehaut understood one another immediately, and it was made worse by the fact that they seemed to get on quite well, despite the fact they both loved the same knight. But Lancelot loved Guinevere, and he didn’t want to get in the way of that. They were so very happy, to such a degree it was almost painful to watch. And the worst part was he wanted them to be this happy.

No, the worst part was when Lancelot kissed Guinevere’s hand. Her face, before impassive and a perfect mask of courtly nobility, had melted away with the pink in her cheeks and the soft smile on her lips. Lancelot had only looked at her, his face a mirror of hers.

Lancelot had escaped first, to preserve his anonymity.

Guinevere said to Galehaut, when it was just them with wine and roasted nuts and little cakes between them, “You are fond of Lancelot too, are you not?”

“Yes,” Galehaut said. There was no point in holding it in. It was clearly pained across his face like the stained windows of a cathedral, telling stories for all the viewers to see.

Guinevere simply nodded. “And he is fond of you too. I… well. I am married. And, well. There is no reason you and he might not also be happy.”

He hid his blush by raising his goblet. “Would that not…”

She shrugged. “Only if you liked. I am not overfamiliar with now romance is meant to be carried out.”

It was easier talking with her after that, and he was pleased to see they got on just as well without Lancelot present.

From there, they met Guinevere many times on the road. She even went on a few adventures with them, though not the exceedingly bloody ones since as she pointed out she did not fight or wield magic. She warmed to Galehaut’s presence further, and she felt like an old companion, a sister, a friend. 

He remembered what she had said to him of Lancelot, but he didn’t speak of it until one night, when he and Lancelot had fought together in another tournament.

“I will need to go to Sorelois sometime,” Galehaut said. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course!” Lancelot said.

“There are, well. There are things that require my attention there,” he said. Duties, treaties, papers. Nothing as captivating as the man before him. “I… am not married. Nor do I think I will ever marry.”

Lancelot’s face seemed to be very carefully neutral, as he said, “Are you certain?”

Before he could take another breath and think better of it, Galehaut had said, “We could rule Sorelois together. We could be… we could both be king, together.”

Lancelot’s eyes were been wet, and emotions crossed his face too fast to be named. “Oh… Galehaut, do you mean that?”

“I do, yes,” Galehaut said, taking a breath as he steeled himself, and reached out a hand, taking Lancelot’s in his own. The knight let him. Lancelot’s hand was calloused, rough from war, but still gentle in his grip.

“Sometimes, I hate myself,” Lancelot said, “For I am the greediest man alive. My heart wants not just the most intelligent and beautiful of queens, but the strongest and handsomest of lords. I cannot… Oh, I cannot do this to either of you, it would not be fair.” And hot tears had fallen down his cheeks. Galehaut felt a similar emotion well up in his own eyes.

“No, Lancelot, there is nothing wrong with wanting,” Galehaut said, warmth from the knight’s hand passing up his arm, to his heart.

Lancelot sniffed, and said, “It is not fair to either of you. Tearing my heart in two would give neither of you what you want.”

He wanted to take Lancelot in his arms, offer him some comfort, a friendly embrace, but he kept still, frozen, holding the knight’s hand. He wanted to say that he doubted Guinevere would complain, since Galehaut surely would not either. Surely this was not unsurmountable.

“If you need,” Galehaut said, slowly, carefully, “Perhaps time to think on your own would be beneficial. Traveling with you has been, it has been wonderful. I have loved every moment of it. But, perhaps time to think would help you, and I can see to my duties in Sorelois, and… and if you want, you can always come back to me.”

Lancelot nodded, and sniffed again. He wiped at his own eyes with a sleeve, then put his other hand atop Galehaut’s. “I cannot make promises to you or to Guinevere now, other than this: I will be back.”

“I shall look forward to your return,” Galehaut said and smiled.

But a year passed. He and Guinevere wrote to each other, and neither had seen Lancelot nor heard from him. It was unusual, the knight would not simply have disappeared unless he was being kept somewhere under duress, captured… but surely they would have heard something. Surely there would be some news. Surely Lancelot would escape and come back to them both… 

But news came to Galehaut that Lancelot had died. It wasn’t the blow from an enemy warrior that did him in, an arrow through his visor, the poison of an assassin dropped into wine. Galehaut died of a broken heart.

But Lancelot was not dead.

Lancelot buried Galehaut himself, in a beautiful tomb with a second stone coffin beside the great lord’s. The second grave was already labelled for its intended recipient though it lay empty now, the name across it reading Lancelot du Lac.

“If I had met you first,” Lancelot said, pressing his face into his hands. “If I had met you first we might not have come to this. You might still be living. But oh, what then of Guinevere? I could not love just one of you… but I wish it had never come to this.”

And, weeping, Lancelot laid his head on Galehaut’s tomb.


End file.
